


A Modest Proposal

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damn it, John was always the man with the plan! So why was it Rodney had to propose this one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Modest Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluespirit/gifts).



> Written for the SGA: Ten Years Later Fest. It arose out of a discussion of prompts with Bluespirit and I dedicate this one to her. All mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out to me!

Rodney watched John as he took his seat at the table across from him. The expression on John’s face as he opened the menu was somewhere between an eyeroll and a lip curl: a definite lack of enthusiasm combined with a hint of derision. The snowy tablecloth seemed a great white expanse between them, and Rodney wondered if he’d made a mistake bringing John to his favorite restaurant. 

John closed the menu and flipped it over to glance at the back before opening it again with a disgruntled sigh. “I don’t trust restaurants that don’t list the prices on the menu. What are we doing here, McKay?”

“André’s is the best restaurant in San Francisco. Hell, it’s the best restaurant I’ve ever been to, period. If we’re stuck here on Earth, at least we can enjoy some of the finest food on the planet.”

John made faces and muttered under his breath, and Rodney knew John was mimicking Rodney’s words, the way a small boy would do when annoyed at being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. Rodney felt as though he was dining with Calvin of cartoon fame, rather than a military hero who’d saved the planet many times over. 

He put John’s irritable behavior down to their prolonged stay on Earth, and the decreasing probability that Atlantis would ever be cleared to return to Pegasus. Hence Rodney’s attempt at distracting John with the best meal money could provide.

John set the menu aside and fiddled with the silverware. “I thought you liked MREs. I think that revokes your gourmand card, Rodney.”

Rodney made his best ‘ha-ha’ face. “Little-known fact about me. I have a five dollar palate. Congratulations on the appropriate use of the word ‘gourmand’, by the way.”

John perked up at Rodney’s words, tucking his chin and raising an eyebrow suggestively. Damn, but that should not have the effect it did on Rodney’s cock. Sure, they’d only recently gotten back together, but as far as Rodney’s body was concerned, they’d never been apart. No one else had the power to tease Rodney’s libido with just one look. 

“A five dollar palate?’ John’s voice had dropped, whiskey-smooth and suggestive, into a register shared between lovers. No doubt the word ‘palate’ had brought certain images to John’s mind, that had to do with Rodney’s amazing, if he did say so himself, abilities with his tongue. 

“Yes, though it’s not what you’re thinking.” Rodney let the smug show on his face. He wanted John to know that Rodney knew where John’s lizard-brain had gone and for shame, for shame.

John leaned back in his chair and grinned unrepentantly. Rodney couldn’t help but admire how he wore the crumpled gray linen jacket and mauve shirt. So not Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, and yet, so right for John. Especially with the day-old stubble. Rodney had a sudden vision of John as he might have been if he’d never gone to Pegasus, if he’d never become the man that Atlantis had expected him to be. Had taught him to be. He shivered as though a ghost had walked over his grave. That John Sheppard struck him as someone who would be infinitely more damaged and unhappy than the man who sat across from him now. Gratitude for what he had made Rodney rush on. “Right. A five dollar palate. Essentially, what that means is that I can’t tell the difference between a meal that costs five dollars or thirty dollars. It’s all the same to me. Which is why I happen to like MREs.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”

Rodney smiled. For some weird reason, John smiled back, which never failed to make him feel special somehow. “Well, yes. That is, until the price tag hits seventy-five dollars or so. Then, all the sudden, I can taste the difference.”

“And André’s?” John prompted.

“Oh. My. God.” Rodney leaned across the table to stare meaningfully into John’s eyes. “Practically orgasmic.”

There is was again. The skeptical lift of the eyebrows. “I’ll believe it when I see it. I don’t like not knowing how much anything costs, though. What’s with only three choices for dinner anyway?”

“Dinner’s on me.”

“I can afford dinner, McKay.”

Oh, great. Now he’d offended John’s sense of pride.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes. I make a gazillion dollars as a paid consultant to the expedition, and I haven’t spend any of my salary in years. Aside from buying Jeannie a Prius, that is. Guilt money, to be sure, and it hasn’t prevented her from bringing up the whole ‘you got me kidnapped and you broke my legs’ thing, which I’d hoped it would. Anyway, I can treat you to dinner.”

“I haven’t spent any of my salary in years, either. And while I might not make as much money as a paid consultant,” John managed to make the words sound dirty somehow, “I get major benefits through the military. Paid housing, military discounts—”

“I can’t believe we’re arguing over this. For fuck’s sake, will you just let me do this one thing for you, John? I have my reasons, okay?”

John blinked at him and suddenly capitulated without warning. His eyes narrowed slightly, however. “Okay.”

“Fine.” Rodney snapped.

“Fine,” John agreed. His impossibly seductive smile made an appearance, and Rodney struggled to maintain his sense of grievance.

“The limited menu means everything will be fabulous. Trust me.”

“Tell me you didn’t just use the F word.”

Rodney frowned for a moment. Reviewing his previous comments, he realized he had indeed. “It’s not my fault if I curse like a Satedan sailor now. Between you and Ronon, the air is blue half the time on an away mission anyway. Teyla frequently looks pained.”

John snorted inelegantly. “I didn’t mean your use of the word ‘fuck’, McKay.”

“Oh, say it a little louder, please. I don’t think that nice couple over by the window heard you.”

John tipped sideways in his chair so he could look over his shoulder. He gave the couple staring at them a little two-fingered salute. The older man tightened his lips and went back to his meal, but Rodney noticed the matronly woman simpered a little at John.

“Well, what _did_ you mean?” Rodney was determined to get John’s focus back where it belonged. On him, damn it.

“Fabulous.” John held up both hands briefly, thrusting his chest forward slightly, in an uncanny imitation of Rodney. When he’d been possessed by Cadman’s consciousness, that is. When she was being particularly nasty. 

“My, aren’t you in a foul mood? And here I thought you might want to get away from the city for a while.” Rodney opened his menu and studied his choices.

A moment later, he felt John’s foot tap him on the ankle. When he looked up, John was studying his menu as well, slouched down in his seat, presumably placing him within Rodney-kicking range. 

“Sorry,” John muttered, without looking up. 

“As you should be.” It was necessary to keep his voice tart. He wasn’t ready to forgive John yet. When John peeped over the top of the menu at him, however, it was hard for Rodney to remember he was annoyed with him.

“It’s just...” John began, only to trail off with a small, somewhat resigned gesture of his fingers.

“I know.”

The cannibalization process of Atlantis had begun. Rodney had predicted it from the very beginning, had spoken loudly of what would happen to the city now that it was parked on Earth, how The Powers That Be would make incredibly stupid and disastrous decisions regarding the future of the Pegasus expedition. 

“Mark my words,” he’d said. “The only thing the SGC has wanted all along was for us to bring back useful tech and by god, we hit the jackpot by bringing them back Atlantis.” He’d ranted along these lines every day until he realized it was killing John. Okay, until Teyla had punched him in the arm and tilted her head in John’s direction. They had been standing on one of the balconies, looking out at the Bay, and marveling (or at least, Rodney was) at the incongruity of such a sight from Atlantis’s walls. 

To the casual eye, John might have appeared to be doing his usual drape across any available stationary object, with his elbows resting on the top rail and a foot parked on the lowest edge, so that his hip canted to one side. Rodney had spent the better part of the last five years Sheppard-watching, however, and he recognized the droop of John’s shoulders and the blank look on his face. John was just hanging on. Toughing it out. Following orders because he had no choice. Rodney had gotten it then. But he would have figured it out eventually, with or without Teyla’s not-so subtle prompting.

From behind John’s menu came the sound of humming. John wasn’t quite tone-deaf but he didn’t have the best vocal skills either, and the tuneless drone grated on Rodney’s musically-trained ears. Worse, there seemed to be something familiar about the melody, if such a noise could be called one, but Rodney couldn’t place it because John was so bad at it.

“What are you going to order?” Rodney asked, more to stop the racket than to know the answer. It was obvious what John would order, after all. 

“I was thinking of the sea bass.”

“What?” Rodney stared at John in disbelief and then scanned the menu until he found the entry. “You can’t. You wouldn’t. You know it will be served with lemon.”

John murmured something under his breath. The rhythm of the indistinct words and melody suddenly aligned themselves with the printed words on the menu and it clicked. 

“Les Poissons? Really, Sheppard? How very mature of you.”

John rewarded him with a grin, then straightened at the arrival of the waiter.

“Good evening, messieurs. My name is Timothy, and I will be your server this evening. Are you ready to order, or would you like some more time?” He placed a basket of bread, still warm from the oven, on the table, along with a dish of soft butter. The bread smelled so heavenly Rodney had to swallow hard and refrain from moaning.

“How much time does anyone need?” John asked, not expecting an answer. He laid the closed menu beside his plate. 

“You are not having the fish.” Rodney glared at John before turning toward the waiter. “I’ll have the poached squab, with garbanzo beans and black truffle butter.”

“Oh, that won’t make Radek happy.”

“What are you trying to do, make it impossible for me to enjoy dinner?” Rodney shot John a speaking glance before opening his mouth to address the waiter, but John forestalled him.

“Dr. McKay is highly allergic to lemon. There must be no lemon anywhere in his meal. Not even on this table. No lemon in the water glasses. Don’t even wave a lemon over his plate. Don’t even think the word ‘lemon’. Yes, he carries an epi pen where ever he goes, but I’d hate for him to fall down foaming at the mouth in front of all your guests here tonight. So no lemon, got it?” Bad enough that John had embarrassed Rodney with such a bald statement in André’s in the first place, but he did it in his ‘Rodney-voice’, the high-pitched nasally twang that sounded nothing like Rodney but it pleased John to think it did.

“No, no, monsieur! Of course not!” Timothy looked alarmed, which was no doubt John’s intent. “And your order, if you please?”

“I’ll have the beef tenderloin.”

Of course he would. That bit about pretending to order the fish was just to jerk Rodney’s chain. Rodney waited until the server had left before saying, “Man, you’re really obnoxious when you’re bored.”

John’s lifted eyebrow spoke volumes.

“We’re talking about you at the moment, not me. Did you really have to do the lemon thing?”

John opened his eyes wide, all innocence. “How many times have I heard you make the citrus statement when we’ve sat down to eat somewhere? I was just doing you a favor and getting it out of the way.”

“By pretending to be me when you did it.”

“I have no idea what you mean, McKay.”

“I don’t know why you’re so determined not to have a good time this evening. I swear, I have half a mind not to—” Rodney broke off, realizing he’d almost given the show away out of sheer pique with John. Which would have been typical, come to think about it. Deciding to shut his mouth by stuffing it with food, he reached for the bread and tore off a piece, slathering it with butter. He bit into it as though he were attacking it with his teeth, only to relax with a happy sigh. The bread was perfect, as he knew it would be, the double crust crisp and flaky, the center warm and chewy.

“You have half a mind not to what?” John had been toying with his silverware again, but stopped to look at Rodney with the same sort of speculation a cat gives the slight movement of toes under a bedspread.

“Nothing, nothing, never mind.” Hurriedly changing the subject, Rodney said, “I can’t believe you were singing a song from _The Little Mermaid._ ”

“Les poissons, les poissons, how I love les poissons, love to chop and to serve little fish.”

“Stop it.” Rodney glanced around to see if anyone was listening. John’s French accent was deliberately hokey and his ability to carry a tune non-existent.

“First I cut off their heads, then I pull out their bones. Ah mais oui, ça c'est toujours délice.”

“Tell, me Colonel Disney Princess, how is it you know the words to “Les Poissons”?” Hah. That silenced him.

John tore a slice of bread into pieces and wiped a section across a pat of butter. Obviously he’d been taking lessons from Ronon in table etiquette again. He popped the bread in his mouth, the slight pause and lift of his eyebrows indicating he’d noticed how good it was before he continued chewing. “You have a niece,” he pointed out, after he’d swallowed. “Somehow, between her and Torren, I’ve seen more than my fair share of Disney movies.”

“I bet you know all the words to “Let it Go.”

“No, but I’ve been singing “I’ll Make a Man out of You” ever since we met.” The smirk came into full play as Rodney grimaced his appreciation for the zinger. He was poised to say something suitably snarky back when a flurry of movement caught his eye.

“Monsieur le docteur! I knew it must be you! No one else would come into my restaurant and make such demands!” 

“André!” Rodney laid his napkin on the table, getting to his feet just as André enveloped him in a hug, planting a loud kiss on either cheek.

The chef then held Rodney at arm’s length and shook him slightly. “Look at you! Look at you! You are so thin, non? You look like the hungry étudiant who first came to me all those years ago. Sit, sit. You must eat for me. I will bring you something special, something I make just for you.” He waved Rodney back into his chair. “Are you in town for business or pleasure? Is this some sort of special occasion?”

André looked trim and professional in his chef’s jacket, a pencil-thin moustache adding to his Continental air. Rodney was still smiling broadly when he turned to introduce John, only to catch John frowning at André. The frown was there and gone so fast, Rodney almost thought it a trick of the eye. Instead, John’s bland smile appeared, the one he reserved for briefings, when he needed to appear interested and on task but in reality was pissed about something. Interesting.

“Yes, you might say this is a special occasion.” Rodney caught the sharp glance John gave him out of the corner of his eye. “André, this is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, a friend and colleague. We’re in town on business and I wanted him to taste the best food in the city.”

“Bon, bon. You have brought him to the right place, then. You have everything you need? Timothy will be right out with your wine. Enjoy! I must return to the kitchen, but I will be back. So good to see you. You must not be a stranger, my friend. I go, I create a dessert for you, ça c'est toujours délice.” He kissed his fingers at Rodney, glancing sideways at John’s undignified whinny of sound that turned into a coughing fit. With a puzzled glance at Rodney, he spun and made his way back toward the kitchen, pausing to greet several of the other guests as he went.

“He didn’t just say that.” John looked at Rodney with the bright-eyed glee of a small boy who’d just heard a fart joke. 

“Oh my god, he did.” Rodney tried unsuccessfully to drown his laughter in a glass of water.

“Where’d you meet such an old fraud?”

Rodney winced a little at the ‘old’ part, but then again, he suspected John hadn’t meant it literally. “When I was in school. It was obvious he’d go far some day. I was the starving grad student and he was just learning what it would take to be a world-class chef. He was good, even then.” Rodney smiled as he recalled willingly playing André ‘s guinea pig, volunteering to test his creations and giving them the thumbs up or down. “We lost touch when I graduated, but then re-connected when I was in town for a conference and asked the hotel for the best restaurant in town. I’ve made a point to try and eat here whenever I’m in the area, which of course, as you know, isn’t often. What makes you say he’s a fraud?”

“Oh please, that accent is so phony. He sounds like the candlestick guy from _Beauty and the Beast_. And ‘monsieur le docteur’ isn't how the French address someone with a PhD. He’s just bullshitting.”

Rodney snorted. “If you hadn’t given the show away attempting to regale me with your amazing repertoire of Disney songs just now, I might have believed you didn’t know who Lumière was. Now? Not so much. That’s two PhDs, by the way.”

“Like you ever let me forget. “ John sucked his lower lip in slightly and gave Rodney a narrow-eyed glare. “Wait a second. Attempting?”

“Attempting.” Rodney was firm. “But you’re right. Andy is an old fraud. He just knew a long time ago what he wanted to be and the best way to get there. Hence the fake French persona.”

Timothy arrived with a bottle of wine and a tray of appetizers.

“What’s this?” Rodney asked, as Timothy set the wine and the dish on the table. 

Tucking the tray under one arm, Timothy deftly opened the bottle of wine and poured a small amount in each of the goblets. “This is one of our best Pinots. It will go excellently with the mussels, which are in a parsley and garlic sauce, compliments of the chef. The Pinot has a lovely, mellow plum flavor that is the perfect choice with both your meals as well. Enjoy!” He set the bottle on the table and left.

John turned the label so he could read it aloud. “David Family, Anderson Valley Pinot Noir. Huh. They only make this in small batches but it’s supposed to be worth waiting for.”

Rodney had been rolling the luscious wine in his mouth, considering what intelligent and educated comment he could make about it when he choked at John’s words. Wiping his mouth on his napkin, he sputtered, “Oh, now who’s the fraud? You come in here acting like it’s an insult to your Colonelness to eat at restaurant that hasn’t been named for some part of a woman’s anatomy and offers a television set in every corner with a different sport playing simultaneously, and yet you know esoteric details about fine wine? Give me a break, Sheppard!”

“Well, I’m more of a whiskey man, myself.” John’s smile was slyly deprecating, a wry twist that suggested he was aware of his prejudices and that he knew he was being foolish.

“You’re a reverse snob, that’s what you are. Admit it. You’d rather be eating pizza and having beer with Ronon and Teyla then here with me.”

“That’s not true.” John made an abortive movement to reach for Rodney’s hand, changing direction to collect his wine glass instead. “Okay, the beer and pizza part, maybe. And it would be nice to have Ronon and Teyla here, too. But not, you know, instead of.” He swirled the wine in the goblet and sniffed it, a gesture so natural and automatic, Rodney knew he’d done it a thousand times before.

“I just wanted to treat you to a nice evening out. Just the two of us, for a change.”

John took a sip of wine and pulled the corners of his mouth down into the expression that said it was better than expected, nodding his head slightly as he did so. He poured more wine into his glass, and topped off Rodney’s as well. “I know. I appreciate that, I do. It’s just...” He sighed. “When I was a teenager, my dad started taking me to places like this. At first it was just the two of us, and I thought it was a big treat. Until every meal became some kind of test in etiquette. It was obvious he was prepping me for life as a CEO later on. After a while, he took me to one or two dinners with friends of the family. To see if I passed muster, I guess.”

Rodney used one of the little forks provided to scoop a mussel out of its shell, bringing it cautiously to his mouth, one hand underneath to catch any drips. It was fantastic. “Oh my god, this is delicious. Seriously, you have to try it.”

John leaned back in his seat. “You’re not even listening to me.”

“Yes, I am. Childhood trauma, Little Lord Fauntleroy. I got it. I take it you didn’t live up to his expectations?” He spooned some mussels out on small plate and pushed it across the table to John.

John sucked his cheeks in, nodding slowly, as if he shouldn’t have expected anything different from Rodney where food was concerned. He snorted suddenly, obviously remembering something.

“What’s so funny?”

John pried a mussel out of its shell and bit into it, making much the same face he made over the wine. “Not bad. What’s so funny? Well, I was remembering how pissed my dad used to get over my hair.”

“Your hair?” Rodney took a sip from his glass. As Timothy had predicted, the combination of flavors acted in concert to bring out the best of both the appetizer and the wine.

“Yeah, my hair.” John’s grin was positively wicked now. “I’ve always had these cowlicks. They were even worse when I was younger. Dad would order me into a suit and demand that I make a presentable appearance, which for him, meant the hair had to lie flat.”

“No!” Rodney couldn’t even imagine what that must have looked like. 

“Yes.” John shook his head sadly. “It didn’t matter what I put on it, after a while, it would just start to pop back into place.” He put his hand behind his head and made a finger stand up along with the sound effect of reverberating metal snapping into place. “Boing.” 

Rodney laughed, briefly catching his lower lip in his teeth. “Oh, that must have made your dad nuts.”

“Oh, yeah. We’d be sitting at dinner and all the sudden a spike of hair would jump up.” John added a second finger to the first, with a slightly lower pitched ‘boing’ sound. He dropped his hands so he could lean across the table. “My dad would wait until no one was around and then tell me ‘you’re doing this on purpose!’” John was imitating his dad now, hissing his anger, his hazel eyes glittering with annoyance. 

Suddenly, it wasn’t so funny anymore.

“Aw, that’s too bad. It’s not like you could help it or anything.”

John sat back up again, tackling the mussels. “I think if he could have glued it down he would have. Anyway, I realized it was all about how I made _him_ look. He didn’t want to spend time with me. He was grooming a replacement.”

“You know, this wouldn’t be the first time I thought your dad was a royal bastard.”

“Aw, gee, McKay, you say the sweetest things.”

“Okay, I know my dad wouldn’t exactly have won the Father of the Year award—”

“No man who tortures his son with Moby Dick would,” John agreed solemnly.

Rodney slumped back in his seat and rolled his eyes. “May I finish please? Thank you.” He acknowledged John’s spin of his hand to continue. “As I was saying, my own father was no prize, but yours has a lot to answer for. So what you’re saying here is that meals at a fine dining establishment such as this one are really just an exercise in ostentation and the game of one upmanship, and that there isn’t any reason to go to a place like this otherwise.”

“Well, there isn’t, is there?”

“What about the dining experience itself? To be with someone special, or to celebrate some major event? Or just reduce it to base epicurean pleasure, if you like.”

“You’re going to have a hard time convincing me that a meal is worth the kind of money we’re shelling out here tonight.”

“Me, not you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve polished off the entire plate of mussels, either. Haven’t we had some truly memorable meals together?”

The light went out of John’s face. He’d been making his case lightly, slapping back Rodney’s verbal serves with the lazy ease of an excellent tennis player who knew he didn’t need to exert himself, but the playfulness had evaporated. “Yeah. The best ones didn’t cost an arm and a leg, either.”

“Well,” Rodney drawled in a fair imitation of John. “That depended on which planet we’d gated to, now didn’t it?”

John snorted at that, and Rodney felt like he’d made the Hail Mary pass in that stupid football game John had shown to Teyla that first time they’d met as a team. He smiled, remembering the popcorn and Teyla’s polite interest in what she obviously thought was a silly game, and then he remembered Ford, and the smile faded. After all these years, and after so many losses, it could still hit him like that at times. He’d think of someone from the original expedition, (because there was something about being part of the original team, the ones who’d decided to give up everything to go to another galaxy with no guarantee that they’d ever come back again, that made them family) like Ford, or Peter, or Elizabeth, and the pain would still run through him like being stabbed with a dull knife. He looked up and saw that John was watching him, and knew John knew he’d been thinking about the expedition and the people they’d lost. It was such a comforting feeling, knowing that the man sitting across from him understood him, knew him that well. They’d gone forth through the Gate, and fought, and survived so much together that they could read each other without words. Behind the banter was the certainty of rock-solid ground, of knowing they had each other’s backs no matter what.

He wondered what John would have done if Rodney had gone ahead with his thoughts of marrying Jennifer, but it was obvious. John would have retreated. Not disappeared, not entirely. But he would have blended with the edges of Rodney’s life. They would have still gotten together for beer and to catch up with each other’s lives, but less and less over the years, as Rodney and Jennifer had children, as Rodney was pulled in other directions, as their life—and love—in Pegasus had faded until it was like a movie they’d filmed, not real, something that happened to other people. The way he had when Rodney had begun dating Katie. Rodney could look back now and recognize the shock on John’s face when Rodney had showed him the ring he’d purchased for Katie. (Come to think of it, that was a pretty small diamond, given the amount of money Rodney made and didn’t spend each year, and that should have told him something about his feelings for Katie right there, shouldn’t it?) His on-again-off-again relationship with John had started back up after Rodney and Katie split up, but something Rodney had begun to notice was that when he was dating other people, his friendship with John grew thinner, almost two dimensional, as though they were a comedy routine and just playing their parts. After the emotional closeness brought about when Rodney had developed that brain parasite and everyone in his life had faded in his memory except for John, it had been noticeable (even to someone as potentially oblivious as Rodney knew he could be) when John made himself scarce after Rodney began dating Jennifer. 

They were still sitting in contemplative silence when the food arrived. The meal was everything that Rodney could have hoped for. The squab was roasted to perfection, the skin a crispy golden layer, the meat so tender it practically fell off the bones. The tenderloin was cooked just the way John liked it, pink in the middle and oozing juices, and he ate it with quiet enthusiasm. Under the influence of the excellent wine and the outstanding food, both of them grew expansive, all prickly feathers smoothed down. Rodney wondered if perhaps, like John’s hair, his previous irritation would pop up spike by spike, but all things considered, Rodney felt like things were pretty much going to plan. 

Timothy came and cleared their plates. When Rodney asked about dessert, John shook his head and patted his stomach as though there was no room left, which was ridiculous because the man had the metabolism of teenager. 

“Oh, but André has prepared something especially for you and your guest, Dr. McKay! I will bring it out shortly. Would you care for some coffee with your dessert?”

“Yes. Coffee.” Rodney was emphatic. It would be as phenomenal as the rest of the meal. “And you, Colonel?”

“Same here.” 

However, it wasn’t Timothy who brought the dessert, but André. He presented it with a flourish, setting small plates in front of Rodney and John. On each plate, a dark chocolate wedge sat in decadent glory alongside a serving of a delicate-looking frozen concoction. An artistic trail of liquid chocolate connected the two items. Timothy followed close behind his boss, and quickly poured out aromatic coffee into the cups on the table.

“What is it?” Rodney asked, practically humming with happy anticipation as he surveyed the dessert.

“Ah, this is a specialty of the house. It is a flourless chocolate cake, very sweet, very dense. It is served with a raspberry sorbet, made fresh just for you, mon ami. The two flavors offset and complement each other nicely; you must be sure to take a bite of each at the same time.”

“Flourless?” The skeptical look had come back on John’s face. He pursed his lips and half-squinted one eye as though he was a small boy being told he’d like Brussels sprouts. 

André smiled widely, showing all his teeth. “I assure you, Colonel, you will not miss it. Please, try it. You will see.”

Though Timothy had left as soon as the coffee was served, André waited expectantly for each of them to taste the dessert. Rodney forked off the end of his cake wedge and slid it through the chocolate into the sorbet. The combinations of flavors, along with the dichotomy between the hot chocolate sauce and the cold sorbet, exploded in his mouth. He was on the verge of making obscene noises when a low pitched groan from John made him look up sharply.

John was sitting with his eyes closed, the fork still between his lips as he sucked the last of the chocolate sauce off the tines of his fork. Rodney didn’t even think he was aware of the pre-orgasmic sound he’d just made.

André was, however. He winked at Rodney and gave him a double-thumbs up, dropping his hands quickly when John opened his eyes. “You like?” André asked, his fake French accent suddenly thick again.

“That was really...good.” John struggled for something more to say, but gave up, and took another bite of the dessert instead, once again closing his eyes and pulling the fork slowly out of his mouth. The tip of his tongue appeared and he swept the corners of his lips with it, searching for any stray remnants of sauce.

Rodney paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, watching John in rapt fascination. When he glanced at André, his old friend was staring at John open-mouthed as well. Rodney elbowed Andy in the ribs and shot him an evil ‘hands off’ glare.

“I will leave you to your food then, monsieurs. Rodney, it was so good to see you. Don’t be a stranger. Come again, and do bring your charming Colonel with you.” He blew Rodney a kiss, and winked openly at John as he left once more.

Timothy brought the check in a leather binder, leaving it discretely by Rodney’s elbow as they lingered over the coffee. 

“What’s our total damage?” John asked.

Rodney opened the binder and stared at the receipt. The note from André made the heat rush into his face as though he’d been outside all day and had forgotten to put on his Sunblock 2000.

“That bad?” John asked. “Hey, at least let me pay half.”

“André comped us for the dinner. No charge. We’re his guests tonight.”

“He did? Well, that was nice of him. I guess when you own the place you can do what you want.” John’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Why would he do such a thing, Rodney? Just how close were you two back in the day?”

“Not that close.” Rodney shook his head. “You have nothing to be jealous about. I was his food-tester, that’s all. Food tester in that I tried out his experimental dishes, not that he was in any risk of being poisoned, you know.” 

“I’m not jealous.”

“You so are.”

“Am not.”

“If anyone should be jealous of old lovers it should be me. I bet you broke dozens of hearts everywhere you went.”

John had been making patterns on the table with the unused silverware, but his hand momentarily froze at Rodney’s words. He flipped the spoon he’d been playing with away from his fingers. It landed with a jangled clatter against his coffee cup. “Not as many as you probably think I did.”

The urge to snarkily protest against John’s denial died when his hand snaked out suddenly for the binder. Rodney grabbed it, holding onto it desperately when John tried to pull it away. 

“Let me see it.”

“No!”

“C’mon, McKay. If there’s nothing between you two, then why won’t you let me see the receipt?”

They tugged the binder between them, Rodney becoming aware of the curious glances in their direction. If Rodney had been making a bet on the outcome of this contest, he would have given himself the better odds, based on a lifetime of perfecting his manual dexterity. However, he’d forgotten about John’s strong hands, and his freakish ability for climbing the face of Atlantis with just his fingers and toes. The binder slipped from his grip and Rodney sagged as John opened it and looked at the receipt.

He had the satisfaction of seeing the tips of John’s ears go red, as well as a bright band of color appear across each cheekbone. Rodney snapped his fingers several times and held out his hand. John meekly returned the binder to him.

Rodney took out his wallet and left a generous tip for Timothy inside the binder, and folded the receipt into his pocket.

They said little as they got into the rental and made their way back to the Bay, where they would park and take a cloaked jumper back to the Atlantis.

The city itself was also cloaked, and there had been much discussion about the drain this placed on the ZPM, as well as the necessary patrols in the Bay to keep someone from running smack into Atlantis. New rumors floated every day: that the Stargate program would be declassified, that Atlantis would be moved to the moon and serve as a first line of defense for Earth. What Rodney was seeing, however, was the gradual removal of equipment in a steady stream of scientific requests, pieces of the city going out to labs on the mainland in a steady stream like parts of a corpse on the backs of ants.

“Dinner wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“What? No.” John cast a quick glance in his direction before studiously concentrating on flying again. “Not bad. Better than not bad. Great, even.”

“You were in a pretty bad mood at first.”

John shrugged. “I thought you were taking me out to show me what a great time we could have on Earth. Like there was a consolation prize for not getting to go home.”

Rodney nodded. Of course, John thought of Pegasus as home now. Even though she tried to kill them on a daily basis. How could anyone, however, who’d lived through the glory and terror that was Pegasus, go back to their ordinary lives here on Earth? It was something that Jennifer simply couldn’t comprehend. She didn’t _want_ to go back. She didn’t want Rodney to go back either. And in a single moment of Teyla-like clarity during one of their arguments, Rodney had recalled how John had refused to say goodbye to him when Rodney wanted to prevent John from seeing the rest of his disintegration into childishness. It was only later that he’d found out Ronon and Teyla had been willing to take him to the Shrine of Talus against Jennifer’s orders, and how John had backed them up one hundred percent. How John had been the one willing to drill a hole in his head (“To let the bad juju out, McKay”) when Jennifer balked at the only treatment option. Jennifer, Rodney realized, was never going to be one of those people comfortable with improvising a solution off the cuff with the materials at hand. She was going to try to follow the book first every time, even if the book was written for a different galaxy.

John had also been willing to step back and let Rodney go off with Jennifer because he believed that’s what Rodney wanted.

John had the HUD up, and the outline of the city was there, despite the fact that in front of them, there was nothing visible except a large area where water inexplicably lapped up against some unseen object. John flew unerringly toward the jumper bay. When they landed, Rodney put out a hand to stop John from getting up. 

“So what do you think?”

“Think?” John had the look of a fox cornered in a henhouse, who was pretending ignorance as to why he was there.

“About Andy’s note.”

John’s cheeks blazoned with color again. He rubbed the tip of one ear. “Um, I dunno. That maybe he was leaping to some pretty wild conclusions?”

Rodney stood up and removed the receipt from his pocket. “Good luck, mon ami,” he read aloud. “I hope he says ‘yes’.” He carefully folded the receipt and put it away, looking down at John who seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. “I guess there’s only one way to do this.” He eased himself to the floor in stages, using the console for balance until he was on his knees at John’s feet. There’d been a time when such a position was taken for one purpose only, but space under the console had always been tight and there were more comfortable places in which to give a blow job. Rodney was hoping to demonstrate that later tonight. 

John looked alarmed, as though Rodney had suddenly declared himself to be a Wraith worshipper and that John was going to be forced to shoot him. He braced his arms against the chair, and looked to either side for an escape route.

Smiling broadly, Rodney captured one of his hands and drew it to his chest. “John, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought for a very long time.”

“Rodney. You don’t... it’s not...”

Rodney held up a silencing finger. “No, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t thought this through. But I assure you, I’ve thought of nothing else for months now. Ever since we got back together.”

John got very still. When Rodney looked into his eyes, John met them squarely. Rodney could tell he was resigned to his fate now. No, something other than resigned. Prepared to listen. John cupped Rodney’s face and Rodney leaned into his palm, panicky laughter threatening to bubble up and take his breath away. He could do this. He _would_ do this.

“We can make this work. You’ll see. I’ve made detailed plans...”

“Plans?” John frowned slightly, that one eyebrow going up. He started to pull his hand back but Rodney tightened his grip. 

“John Sheppard, would you do me the honor...?”

John waited for a long moment for Rodney to continue, then moved his head in a slow circle as if he could pull the words out of him with the action.

Rodney couldn’t hold the grin back any longer. He tucked his chin and looked up at John, waggling his eyebrows. “Would you do me the honor of stealing Atlantis with me?”

“What?” John thumped back in his chair, stunned.

“You, me. Steal the city. Go back to Pegasus. With, of course, Teyla and Ronon and everyone else who wants to come with us. We’ve made discrete inquiries and the list is unexpectedly large. Radek and I have been figuring what we’d need in order to be autonomous, and we—”

He never got to finish his sentence. John sprang forward, taking Rodney’s face in his hands and kissing him for all Rodney was worth. It was fierce, and gleeful, and tore through Rodney like a summer storm, and then somehow they were in a messy heap on the floor and John was crawling all over him, kissing him breathless. 

“Yes,” John said, nipping his ear. “Yes,” he repeated, rubbing his chin along Rodney’s jaw in that way that always drove Rodney wild. “Yes,” he murmured, taking command of Rodney’s mouth again. It was some time before either of them could speak.

“Okay, ow. Back,” Rodney complained.

John rolled off him and got to his feet easily, holding out a hand. When Rodney took it, John pulled him up and into him, hard. “Have I ever told you that you’re a fucking genius?”

In the dim lighting within the jumper, John’s eyes gleamed almost gold. He took Rodney by his belt and pulled him into full body contact, pressing against him as they kissed once more.

“Smartest man in two galaxies. I keep telling you that, but you never seem to listen to me. I take it that’s a ‘yes’ to stealing the city with me?”  
“You couldn’t do it without me.”

“Now look who’s being all modest.”

Later, lying in a tangle of limbs in Rodney’s bed (because he really did have the bigger, nicer bed, for heaven’s sake) Rodney was drifting in the relaxed haze of satiation, sleep slowly overcoming him as though he was wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on a cold night and its warmth oozed into him. John’s voice, low and quiet, startled him out of his doze.

“You wouldn’t have left without me, would you?”

The uncharacteristic uncertainty in John’s voice brought Rodney fully awake. “What? Of course, not. Don’t be an ass. Hell, when I first broached the idea with everyone, they assumed it was your plan in the first place. Atlantis without you would be unthinkable. Besides, she would refuse to go without her Number One Son.”

John’s laugh was more a vibration than a sound. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”

“No probably about it. Ditto for everyone else. No one else would go if you said no. You’re our commander, John. No one else would do.”

“Why did you wait to ask me? Why not ask me first?”

Rodney let out an exasperated sigh. “Because I was waiting for you to suggest it! You’re the take-charge guy! You’re the man with the crazy-ass plans. I’m the genius that helps you implement them. I couldn’t understand what you were waiting for.”

“I think you know.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” But John hadn’t immediately suggested running off with the city back to Pegasus once Rodney broke up with Jennifer. And though he’d fallen back into having sex with Rodney again, there had been this emotional barrier between them. Like John was afraid Rodney would turn around and find another pretty girlfriend. Rodney couldn’t blame him, really.

“So why the fancy dinner? Did you really think I’d say no?”

Rodney rolled over to face John, propping his cheekbone up on one hand. “I took you to a fancy restaurant because I wanted you to experience something I enjoyed. Because I wanted the pleasure of your company. Because I love you.”

There was an awkward pause on John’s part. No doubt as he processed the L-word and decided how to respond.

“Your buddy Andy seemed to think there was ah, something more to it than that.”

Rodney leaned forward and kissed the tip of John’s nose. “Andy is a die-hard romantic and he likes the idea of being part of someone’s big night. And he was. Just not the proposal he had in mind.”

“You gotta admit, Rodney,” John’s voice was soft, and for the first time ever, Rodney could hear the hurt in it. “You seem awfully fond of the idea of marriage. You’ve been pretty quick to consider it the last couple of years.”

Rodney hesitated, not certain how to answer but knowing he couldn’t get this one wrong. “When we first started, you know...”Rodney broke off to make a rude gesture with his free hand, “I never thought it would last. Not really. I mean, I knew how I felt about you and I thought I knew how you felt about me, but it was just something we did. To relieve stress. To prove we were alive. To get through those final weeks when we _were_ sure we were going to die.” He took a deep breath and continued on. “When we didn’t die, and we made contact with Earth again, I told myself I was running out of time to do the conventional thing; to marry and have kids. To do it better than my parents did. To do it right. But the real reason was that I’d come so close to losing you when you’d decided to take a one way trip into a Hive ship with a nuke strapped to your back. And I knew I couldn’t have you, not really.”

He sighed and rolled over on his back to stare at the ceiling. 

John said. “If we take Atlantis and set ourselves up as an independent colony, we can make our own rules.”

Rodney turned his head so he could see John. The full moon shone in from the balcony, almost bright enough to read by, deepening the shadows in the room and painting everything else with a cold silver light, including the line of John’s body, where he’d half turned to speak to Rodney. The light loved John’s skin, and Rodney had to reach out and touch him, stroking his hand down John’s highlighted arm. “What are you saying? It’s not like you’d marry me!”

“You haven’t asked.” John sounded astonishingly prim.

“John, you can’t be...you don’t mean...you wouldn’t...”

“Yes, I do.” John said, and kissed him once more.

~fin


End file.
